There comes a time in the life of a manuscript when it is hideous to the
eye, when one cannot bear to read it yet again, when entire sentences
have been accidentally committed to memory, when one begs for something
fresh to work on.
In my experience, that time is usually when
there is one more pass to go. The end is in sight, but ... not ... quite
... yet. The finish line is just a crawl away.
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